Sartre and Emerson by Moonlight
by mrsProbie
Summary: Percy and Hermione have a moonlit discussion ranging from women's pornography (tawdry romance novels) to his post-war guilt. The night culminates in a confession and the spark of something great. Written for the Minor Character Boot Camp, the Emerson Quotes Challenge, and the I'm Falling in Love... Again Competition, all over at HPFC.


**A/N: Written for the I'm Falling in Love... Again competition, the Minor Character Boot Camp, and the Emerson Quotes challenge over at HPFC. Mathematics and Merlin, I haven't written anything not based on a challenge, competition, or a boot camp since... a long time ago. **

**A/N 2: Hermione and Percy seem to enjoy teasing each other about sexual things; every time they talk, they seem to end up on some incredibly inappropriate topic, no matter how much I fight them on it. I think it's because at the point that the story is written, they've both been sexually repressed for a time. Also maybe your author is a little sexually repressed, haha. Anyways, if talk about sex bothers you, you may not want to read. **

**A/N 3: I don't know. This was very stream of consciousness. But I still think you may read it all the way through, for the same reason that you have to take a look at the wreck on the side of the interstate.**

_Strong as United Prompt: Coffee, Star_

_MCBC Prompt 48: Kiss_

_Emerson Quote: "Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with a new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old."_

Percy's face was becoming rather red rather quickly. "That's the way it's always been done, Hermione! Why would the Ministry change that when it's been working for years?" He always got like this when she was arguing with him- or "exchanging discourse," as he liked to call it, or "acting like a couple of right twats," as Fred and George chose to call it- and she loved it.

First only his ears would be red, like every other Weasley. Slowly, the flush would spread down his cheeks and meet in the center, on his nose. Then, it would spread both north and south from there, creeping up towards his hairline and down to his chin- from his chin, it spread down his neck, and as she'd not exactly argued with him at a point in time when he was shirtless, she wasn't sure where it went from there. Regardless, it was cute.

"Not to mention that- are you listening?" Percy's confidence appeared to have faltered.

"Of course I'm listening," Hermione said, indignant. "I just don't think it's the Ministry's right to-"

"Not the Ministry's right?" he practically exploded. She knew that would get him started. "What are you, an _American _now? Not the Ministry's right..." he muttered before trailing off into a series of murmurs that she could only dimly discern- it was no wonder he was being so quiet with them; if his mother heard him saying some of those things, she'd have his head on a silver platter, even if he _was_ twenty-four years old and no longer under her roof.

No, he was technically out of the Burrow, had been for ages. Of course, that didn't stop Molly Weasley from treating her boys- and Ginny- like children when they came home to visit. And, of course, Hermione visited for Christmas as well; although she wasn't related to the Weasley clan, she thought of them as family, and vice versa, and even at twenty years old, she couldn't imagine spending a holiday season without them.

"You might want to watch your language, Percy," she said conspiratorially, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed tone, a tiny smile gracing her lips. "Your mother's taken to sneaking about these days, I hardly ever hear her coming." He sat up much straighter all of a sudden and twisted his neck to see if his mother's figure was visible from the door frame. Hermione muffled a laugh with her hand. "I didn't know you even swore, Mr. Weasley," she added upon recovering from her fit of giggles.

"It would appear that I do," he replied blandly, sipping his coffee. Coffee- what a strange man. She'd never cared for it, much preferring her tea, thank you. "And you, Miss Granger," he began, continuing her put-on air of formality, "what do you do that would drive Molly Weasley to homicide?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to sit up straighter in her seat. "I do nothing of that caliber," she said easily.

"Oh, please," Percy said, smirking into his coffee. "You dated Ron for a year, and he's the handsiest guy I know. There had to be at least something _there_."

"That was a very long time ago," Hermione hissed, her cheeks suddenly tinged with a bright shade of pink, "and not at all relevant."

"Oh, really?" Percy asked, smirk still firmly in place. "You mean Mother wouldn't have an absolute fit if she knew what you and Ron got up to behind the barn-"

"I won't bring up your swearing and spiking your coffee on the weekends if you never bring that up again," Hermione offered stiffly.

Percy's brows rose practically to that ginger hairline of his. "How did you know I-"

"I didn't," Hermione said, now quite satisfied with herself. "I simply suspected, and you have confirmed it. Besides," she added with only a touch of acid, "it isn't as though you and Audrey never got up to anything. She told me stories that would make even _Ronald_ blush."

"Wh- what did she tell you?" Percy stammered. "You know, actually, I don't want to know." Hermione only winked. "I call a truce."

"Oh, but I was just getting started!" Hermione whined. "There are so many more things to tease you for."

"Oh, bugger off," Percy said good-naturedly.

–

She wasn't expecting to find anyone else when she meandered outside in the middle of the night. It was just past two in the morning when she'd woken up in a sweat, and she just knew that some hot cocoa and a view of the sky would calm her down, so she headed down to the kitchen. At first she didn't recognize him without the smirk he'd taken to adopting around her lately, but sure enough, there at the breakfast table, in her spot, staring out the window at the stars, was Percy Weasley.

–

"And so heaven becomes hell," Percy drawled upon seeing her hovering there in the doorway. She seemed uncertain of whether to enter the kitchen. "Would you like to sit down?"

Hermione did so, settling into the chair beside his quietly. Each had a magnificent view of the sky through the window, and for a moment they were silent, simply observing the stars. Then, abruptly- "Am I really so awful that my very presence is hellish?" There was a teasing glint in her eyes, but under that, something else, something different, something... pained? Percy was reminded of what his brothers had taught him about comedy: at the root of every joke is a seed of truth.

Eager to dispel any notion she may have had that he didn't enjoy her company, Percy laughed it off. "No, no- it's Sartre: hell is-"

"Hell is other people," she finished, relief seeming to wash over her expression. "Yes, I've read _No Exit_. I see it now. You should really be more clear about not hating people," she admonished.

"Why would he hate you?" Percy asked, now genuinely confused. "You're fantastic," he added earnestly.

Hermione laughed now, that soft breathy laugh he enjoyed so much- he'd do anything to hear it, even get her to laugh _at_ him rather than _with _him if he had to do so to hear it. "You know, Percy, I always thought you were a bit of a prat."

"I _was_ a bit of a prat- no," he corrected abruptly, "I was a _lot_ of a prat." They laughed together again, quietly still. At the root of every joke... They returned to staring out to the sky. Ten minutes or so passed in this manner, each stealing glances at the other across the table but neither saying a word.

"You know," Percy said suddenly, "this would be terribly romantic if it weren't you and I sitting across the table from one another." At Hermione's raised brow, he continued. "Young man, young woman, two intellectuals finding each other's company in the middle of the night, looking up at a beautiful sky from a silent house."

She chuckled under her breath. "I suppose you're right; if you were some other man, it'd be something right out of a tawdry romance novel."

Now it was _his_ turn to raise an eyebrow. "_Tawdry? _Dirty mind, Hermione Granger. I implied nothing at all about anything _tawdry."_ She blushed a rather deep shade of pink and was suddenly refusing to make eye contact. "My, my- that is most certainly not something that I would've expected someone like you to be caught dead reading, much less reading frequently enough for them to be the first thing to pop to mind when someone-" he broke off when she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over herself, and he slowed down. "Just, you know, having met you in the past..."

"'Be not the slave of your own past,'" Hermione recited. "Emerson."

Percy snorted. "So was plunging into the 'sublime seas' all just a very complex metaphor for-" Hermione coughed quite loudly, effectively cutting him off, even sending him a bit of a glare to try to fully get the message across. Undeterred, he continued with his teasing. "Oh, or how about diving deep and swimming far?"

Even she had to laugh. "And I suppose all that they say about female empowerment is just coming back 'with self-respect, with a new power'?"

When he mentioned that she may have gained 'an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old,' she about lost herself in her mirth. He really had never seen her laugh quite so hard at anything- most certainly not at something that he had said, or anything quite so inappropriate. As he thought it, the situation sunk in: he was laughing with Hermione Granger about Emerson... and her (apparently frequent, as she _had_ blushed when he implied it) employment of tawdry romance novels. Upon realizing the utter inappropriateness of it all, he felt that familiar blush crawl over his face, intensifying until he felt that his entire face was on fire, burning like those stars outside.

–

Neither, of course, noticed the shadow now lurking in the stairwell leading to the kitchen. Molly Weasley had heard a noise and come downstairs, wand drawn and at the ready, to check what it was- upon realizing it was simply Percy and Hermione talking in the kitchen, she had turned to go upstairs, and upon hearing something about a tawdry romance novel and Percy's teasing tone, she sped up, desperate to get upstairs and out of hearing range before their conversation got any further.

–

"Do you really read that trash?" Percy asked later. Hermione huffed- they had just gotten off the subject; she had managed to get him focused on the Emerson aspect of their conversation instead. "I'm just curious!" he defended himself. "You always place so much emphasis on literary value, and they're absolutely terribly written, and-"

"Percival Weasley," Hermione interrupted him, suddenly beaming. "You've read tawdry romance novels. You've read them!"

"What?" he said, suddenly incredibly defensive. He twisted slightly in his seat as he added, "No, that's- that's ridiculous. I don't- I've never- I don't-"

"Oh my _God, _you _do!_" Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from waking someone- or the entire house- this new fact was entertaining her so. "And clearly not for the 'literary value,' as you so eloquently put it."

"All right," Percy admitted, quite red in the face again by this point, "I do- so what?"

"So you read- you read- _women's pornography,_" Hermione said, whispering the last two words more than the rest, although still presenting them in a teasing tone. Despite the fun she was having, she very much wanted to keep their discussion quiet; if anyone were to wake and hear them talking about this, she wasn't sure how on earth they'd manage to explain it away.

"Oi!" He whisper-shouted his protest, clearly feeling the same about this little discussion and its hopefully discreet nature. "Just because it's written and not photographed doesn't mean it can't be as erotic-"

"I'm not fighting you on that," Hermione said, holding her hands up as though to show an armistice. "I quite agree! I just think it's hilarious that Percy Weasley reads women's pornography. And, apparently, fairly regularly at that." Percy rolled his eyes now, remaining silent. Hermione highly suspected it was because he wasn't sure what he could say that wouldn't only lead her to make more fun of him. "All right, fine, I'll let it go if you will. Would you like to speak about something else?" Hermione asked diplomatically, even folding her hands over each other and placing them gently on the table to fully throw herself into the role of someone far more polite than she.

Percy didn't speak for a few moments, and she slowly began to fear that she had somehow managed to offend him beyond anything she'd done before, that she'd poked the wrong spot in her teasing, that- "Why do you always argue with me about the Ministry?" Oh. Wait, what? "I mentioned it to Harry the other day, and he said you and I have very similar political views. So why do you argue with me?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I find it very productive to argue both sides..." she trailed off, knowing that her delivery of the sentence made it sound unfinished but hoping that he wouldn't catch it.

Unfortunately, he raised his brows and nodded for her to continue, clearly having cottoned on. "Go on," he encouraged when she paused and looked down.

"And, er..." She pursed her lips and breathed sharply through her nose- _in, out_- before actually replying. "I think you're very cute when you get all riled up about things, so it's very fun to pick on you," she said in a rush.

Percy appeared to be in a state of shock, and Hermione's blush returned with a vengeance. "I'm-" he stuttered- "I am- I'm cute?"

"Well, yes," Hermione said, quite abashed. "Cute, adorable. Less the 'watching a small gray kitten sleep' sort of cute and more the 'watching a puppy attack a squeaking toy with a rage with the heat of a thousand dying suns' sort of cute," she attempted to clarify. "You just tear into things with such a passion, and it's... cute," she finished lamely.

"I'm... cute." He still seemed to be struggling with the concept, and she laughed into her hand. "See," he blurted, "_that_ was cute- the kitten kind, not the angry puppy kind," he clarified, and she felt her cheeks twinge pink once again. "Your laugh is cute, that little thing you do with your nose when you don't like something and you don't want the other person to know, the little freckles you have, those ones that you used to try to hide- I'm glad you stopped doing that, by the way- all that is cute. Me, I'm just a stocky ginger who works at the Ministry."

"Yes, you're a stocky ginger," she admitted, "and you are indeed a Ministry worker- but that doesn't make you _not_ cute when you get all riled up. And I like the way you look- it's," she struggled to find a suitable word, "dignified." At his raised eyebrow, Hermione became defensive. "Really! Especially with the way you wear your hair and have your suits and ties and-" she broke off, not wanting to continue. If freshly cut grass, new parchment, and spearmint toothpaste were what Amortentia smelled like to her, then business wear and a clean-shaven chin (or just a _touch_ of stubble) were the mental images a visual variation of the potion would bring to mind, and they were perfectly captured by Percy Weasley. Upon bringing to the forefront of her mind exactly what she thought of his appearance when they crossed paths in the Ministry (as they were wont to do), she her cheeks flushed for what felt like the millionth time that night.

"It's getting late," Percy said blandly, "if you'd like to get to sleep. You sound like you need it."

Hermione's expression soured. "I'm not saying these things because I'm tired- _goodness_, and we agreed earlier that you weren't a prat any more." His brows drew together. "Is it really so hard for you to believe that I find you so likable?"

"I try very hard to be likable."

"That isn't exactly an answer, Percy," she said, smiling. "Is it really so-"

"I guess it is," he said shortly. "Of all the Weasleys, I'm not exactly the one known for being likable, am I?"

Hermione huffed, then she reached her hand out. She touched his arm lightly at first, her fingertips just barely brushing the fabric of his night shirt over his bicep; then, after a moment, she breathed out sharply and gripped the excess fabric, the slack, and pulled it slightly towards her. He yelped. "No one is judging you for what you did back then, Percy."

"Plenty of people are," he argued, pulling his arm from her grip and rubbing it slightly as though it were sore.

"Well, I'm not, anyways," she said, crossing her arms. "It doesn't matter, you know. You made a mistake- you acknowledge that, you're sorry, and you mean it. That's all that matters." They were silent then. After a moment, Hermione gave up trying to make eye contact with him, but the moment she looked away, she felt his eyes on her. Sure enough, when she turned back to look at him, he was staring right at her, looking at her in a way that she wasn't sure he ever had before.

"No one's said that," he said quietly. "No one's told me that all it takes is an apology, and meaning it. You're the first one." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, ignoring her attempt to speak. "Is that all it takes with anything?" She was confused. "If I wanted to tell you anything, anything at all, would it just have to be true?" She bit her lip again then, uncertain of where he was taking this idea, but nodding nonetheless. Percy leaned in conspiratorially, and she mirrored his actions. Their faces were within inches of each other, and she was overly aware of that fact. "Hermione Granger, I... I very much like speaking with you," he said, uncomfortable in his confession.

She laughed, breathy. "I very much like speaking with you, too."

"Would you like to, erm, speak with me, sometime? Over dinner?"

Was Percy Weasley asking her on a date? After a night like _that?_ "That sounds wonderful," she said. "When do you think we could speak with each other?" Somewhere along the line since he had begun his confession, their voices had lowered to whispers. She didn't mind- it meant they had to lean in closer to properly hear each other.

Percy glanced down at her lips, then dragged his line of sight back up to her eyes. "I, er, don't know. Are you doing anything Saturday?"

"Saturday- that's tomorrow," she murmured. "I don't believe I am."

"Well, technically, today has been Saturday for about two hours," Percy said, glancing at his wristwatch to confirm it. "So, er, what are you doing on Saturday at about two-fifteen in the morning?"

She smiled, seeing now what he was playing at. "I'll probably be-"

Hermione Granger was very glad to find Percy Weasley's lips covering her own, because she had no idea what sort of witticism she could have possibly come up with under the circumstances.


End file.
